Friday, December 11th, 2009

one week and counting, his arm then
brushes against mine; that i want to
hold him close and never let the soul go,
body, can fade into nonexistence, i say,
but just give me his life

selfish?, i’m not, take time to touch the heat of
the pot on a sunday afternoon, wishing i could wait,
but i’m really waiting for myself to burn this blue moon away
and like the sounds of the night, sore in the mouth
from too much of a-saying, and too much eyes to bawl and crawl,
yes, she tells me with care, closing off everything, and my hair..

enough, with these broken hearts: this heart, at least, this one says:,
enough, i’ve had too much to contemplate and many a-times i thought of being late
just for the sake of crying myself thin into a mold of a partisan stick;
marx would’ve held me tight and cried like an idealist;
che would’ve told me to buck-up and keep on running;
my father would tell me ‘what’s the problem?’, wait and see—
and this girl would say, take your runner’s breath… lay down your weary head, so oh, she said:
dance to the tune that is stuck in your head of sleeping too early, and waking up too soon

one week and be-musing, do my ties go,
he says he loves me, but
how can i believe him when he’s new
but i’m feeling so old and deep does my soul fall,
but, i say, just give me his life…

One comment on “selfish

  1. Adah says:

    Scary albeit so much sense.

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